Myrtle Beach is roughly halfway between the borders of Georgia and North Carolina along South Carolina’s coastline. Though mainly a tourist town for beachgoers, a sizable local population thrived as businesses had to be on hand in order to serve the vacationers and as with any city of its size, Myrtle Beach had its own local college. He, Eliza, and Blakeney found themselves pulling onto a street not more than two blocks from the campus; students were the main residents. The drive had taken the remainder of the day and now it was only a couple of hours until midnight. Normally, trying to speak with anyone at this time of night would be difficult, but seeing as it was a Friday night—and Amanda Hanson was a college student—they were sure she would be awake. Blakeney took the last turn and the three of them found them-selves facing and army of police and ambulances. The red and blue lights flashing off into the dark, reflecting every shiny surface in the vicinity, were like heral
James, Eliza, and Blakeney had left the car in a parking deck a block away and were now walking into the lobby of the condominium tower. They sauntered up to the bank of elevators, James pushed the call button, and they waited patiently for one to arrive. With a ding signaling the arrival of a car, the trio stepped over to the furthest elevator as the doors slid smoothly open. A petite, beautiful young woman of middle eastern dissent sa-shayed out of the car. She ran her brown eyes up and down his body and as she passed him, she flicked him a wanting smile over her shoulder. Somehow, within the deepest parts of his mind, James felt like he knew her. He studied the retreating figure intently trying his best to place her. Eliza slammed an elbow into his ribs. He shook his head and met her narrowed eyes. “You done staring yet?” she asked, an undertone of a warning filtering through. “It’s not that,” he said slowly, the memory or sense still tugg
“James?” Eliza said, doing her best to break into his reverie. Not on purpose had he blanked out, but he had just found him-self thinking on the fact that for almost a month straight, this goddess of Death had killed consistently. And now, all of sudden a week had gone by without any mention in the media of any murders which fit the bill. Had she stopped, being that she—whoever the elusive she happened to be—had now been exposed to them? Was it all just a message to be delivered which said that Clurife and his tools could get to any of them at any time? No. That James knew for sure. Besides, he found himself aching for the opportunity to face this supposed goddess of Death and show her a real fight. Killing unarmed, untrained innocents was easy, but throw someone like himself into the mix and then you had a real test on your hands. He hadn’t had the chance though, because it seemed that finding the last few descendants of Poseidon which contained the god
The group dashed out of the motel room and into the dark, unforgiving night. The moon was at full height, bathing the ground in a silvery light; the stars were out in force, though with the nearby freeway and it’s artificial lighting, the brilliant beauty of the celestial bodies was greatly diminished. James turned to face Eliza and Oliver and told them, “Position here and watch our backs.” At the onset of additional spine-tingling howls, Oliver clenched his jaw and a hint of anger flashed in his cool gray eyes. The Brit nodded once. James moved his eyes away from the pair lest his emotions for Eliza overwhelm him. He needed to remain clearheaded in order to protect them all. Swiftly, he searched the area and decided on the best possibility for a battle ground. In between where they currently stood and the interstate in the distance, there was a large open field with low level grasses. The earth seemed to be sandy and it was even somewhat lit from the lights on the freeway. Jame
James sat wearily to the bed that would be his in the room. He was trying his best not to relive the past 12 hours, because they weren’t exactly the best of his life. Not but an hour after they had gotten on the road, Romero had called Blakeney and had given him the bad news: Landen Miller and his entire family had been killed sometime around midnight. A piece of his heart had felt as if it had been ripped out because not only had they failed to get there in time to prevent the deaths of innocents, but they had lost yet another prospect for the last element. The task or mission—or whatever you would call it—was starting to shape up to be impossible. It was as if no matter when they left or how hard they tried, they were always a step behind the enemy. He didn’t know what else they could do different, but he did know that if he continued to obsess over the possibilities, he would probably have a mental breakdown. He would have to be patient and when the opportunity came, they would str
For the rest of the day, James had followed Tres’s family around. Not always necessarily because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to go sit in his room by himself. They had eaten dinner together—Adonis joining them father-free—and now he and Tres were just getting things ready for tomorrow. Well, he was anyway. Tres had brought an updated, upgraded version of his computer system, Alexandra, and was rewiring the room in order to do a new integration. Spare wires were hanging from the ceiling and a huge hole had been cut into the wall behind Tres’s desk. His friend was hard at work when a knock came from their door. Tres immediately froze in midtinker and the two of them listened hard. A soft click sounded and Blakeney stuck his head in. “May I come in?” Tres’s face showed shock and panic. His eyes flitted around the room but seeing as there was no way to hide the mess, he dropped his head. James pinched off a laugh. “Sure, Mr. Blakeney.” “James, I wanted to speak with
“Good morning, class,” intoned Blakeney as he strode regally through the door. “Morning, Mr. Blakeney,” the class replied in almost perfect uni-son. The older man deposited an expensive-looking briefcase on a large, glistening wooden desk and turned his full attention on them. “You have all chosen to take International Political Studies this year and as it is a career specific course, it’s important that you always do your very best. Throughout this year we will be looking at the various political decisions of the past 250 years which have helped shape our world into the model we see today. Though there will be tests and several written assignments,” he said before pressing on reassuringly, seeing the panicked faces, “the bulk of your grade will come from the discussions we will often partake in. Do not fret because it is not the shape of your opinion that matters, but your involvement. As is always the case with the nature of our topics, the arguments will sometimes be hea
The rest of the week passed with little to no fanfare. If James was honest with himself, he’d admit how easy it would be to get wrapped up in the repetition and comfort of simplicity of all of this and forget—or at least displace to the back-burner—the looming darkness hanging over everyone. Though not everyone knew about the storm that was brewing, coming it was, nonetheless. In between school, Eliza, and friends, James had had little time for thought of any missions or training or whatever. He found himself getting distracted more and more often as the week had progressed. Case-in-point: Ricky Collins had been hounding him incessantly about going out for the wrestling team. Apparently, his new body structure was easily noticeable even though he had always had a bit of an athletic build. Regardless, the attention drawn from his new look was a little embarrassing and he wouldn’t be caught dead in any kind of spandex. No, thank you. The week had turned out pretty good and with the w